


Ten For A Sou

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: X Company
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Drabble Collection, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Ten Songs Meme, Torture, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8459863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: Drabbles written for the Ten Songs Meme.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through S2. Dialogue in “Safe And Sound” from “Fatherland.” Each drabble is exactly 100 words (minus the title).
> 
> How To Play The Ten Songs Meme:
> 
> 1\. Choose a fandom, characters or pairings you like.
> 
> 2\. Set your music player to shuffle.
> 
> 3\. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. (For extra fun, write each drabble during the time frame of the song.)
> 
> 4\. Write ten, then post!

 

**_Lullabye For A Stormy Night_ **

One night, when the air raid siren blared, Tom and Neil took shelter in a crowded underground bunker. A young, terrified mother couldn’t quiet her howling baby as the bombs kept raining down.

Neil caught her eye. “Here, let me try,” he offered.

Exhausted, she handed the baby over, who stared wide-eyed at Neil as he crooned a lullaby Tom had never heard before. Within minutes, the baby was fast asleep in Neil’s arms.

At Tom’s astonished glance, Neil said only, “Sang this to Mags when she griped.”

Tom always tried to remember that whenever Neil snapped another Boche’s neck.

 

 

 

**_Walk On The Ocean_ **

Growing up, Tom spent every summer at the beaches in Cape Neddick. Family photographs showed him suntanned and strong, creeping up in height every year. He spent long, lazy days swimming or digging for crabs and mussels; evenings he’d flop down on the sand and gaze at the stars.

At fifteen, Tom lost his virginity behind a sandbar, to his best friend from the resort town.

That night, he stared at the moonlight shimmering on the water, and thought if he could die on a beach like this — in his best friend’s arms just like this — he would die happy.

 

 

 

**_How Can I Keep From Singing?_ **

Alfred had already endured eleven hours of it: the double bass throb from his bruised kidneys, the flute-like fire of a cracked cheekbone, the ripping violin of hyper-extended shoulders as he hung on the hook — now joined by the sickening rhythm of the pipe to his solar plexus.

The agony swelled, reaching one clear, perfect note in E flat – and held, blocking out all other sensation.

 _The blue. Just listen to the blue,_ the voice within Alfred whispered. So he did, and though Faber’s men continued to beat him like some kind of human drum, he felt no more pain.

 

 

 

**_Hard Sun_ **

Neil kept a tally of kills since becoming an Allied agent. At first they were simply “in the line of duty”. Killing Rolf made it that much harder afterwards, but being the weapon was still his specialty.

Then Neil mistook youth for innocence, and let Martin run away.

Seven people, including Jacob, paid the price for that betrayal. Executing Martin did nothing but add another to Neil’s count.

On the train to Dieppe, when Tom asked what Neil’s problem was, he could only think about laying Jacob in his grave, and hope Tom’s tally would never catch up to him.

 

 

 

**_Sun Comes Up, It’s Tuesday Morning_ **

Tom and Krystina agreed at the beginning: short and sweet, no strings. But the cots at the Camp slept only one person, and every single cot squeaked to high heaven. (Going extra slow, though, definitely had its advantages.)

Tom returned to France on a Monday evening. “For old times’ sake,” he’d said, taking her hand, and he led her to a cot in the empty ladies’ infirmary.

They could only hold each other and kiss, because his scar was still healing. Tom stroked Krystina’s hair until she fell asleep. She woke up alone next morning.

The cot never squeaked once.

 

 

 

**_Ordinary Day_ **

Six months ago, if you’d asked Harry how he felt about becoming an Allied agent, he’d say how proud he was to be recruited straight from university to serve his country. His hands would fly, and his eyes would blaze with excitement when he talked about radios, codes, and gadgets he would build to help the war effort.

Today, on the freight train from Dieppe, if you asked him the same question, he’d look up from his message on the radio with reddened eyes, press his hands together to keep them still.

And he might give you a different answer.

 

 

 

**_When All Is Said And Done_ **

They had been a motley crew, team by necessity, friends by choice. This is what Aurora thinks, in front of the breeze-whipped flag at the entrance to the Camp.

She doesn’t cry when Sinclair reads the roster of the dead, doesn’t flinch when Alfred and Harry gently squeeze her hands. René, Tom, and Neil: they were the price they paid to win the war. There was nothing to apologize for, nothing to forgive. They all had understood.

Tomorrow, the Camp will close for good and the three remaining will go their separate ways. Tonight, they’ll raise their glasses to remember.

 

 

 

**_Wondering Where The Lions Are_ **

Harry found the pond hidden from the road while scouting on a hot, cloudless June afternoon. Aurora called for a break; before she knew it, Tom and Neil had stripped to their skivvies and raced into the water.

On the grass beside her, Harry tinkered with his radio. Alfred wandered around the nearby meadow; soon he returned, handkerchief filled with ripe, wild strawberries.

“For you,” he said, smiling shyly.

They left only when the shadows lengthened towards evening. Until passing the bloated corpse of a Resistance fighter on their way back, Aurora thought you’d never know a war was raging.

 

 

 

**_Safe And Sound_ **

Sinclair wouldn’t bend the rules to save his own sons, but he told himself that moving Klaus from Russia to Bowmanville had been justified to rescue Alfred. Though the boy chafed at leaving his comrades behind in the gulag, Sinclair thought he’d eventually come around.

Even when Klaus stood in front of Hydra, canvas detonator shaking in his hands, Sinclair held out hope.

“I meant what I said before, son.” _We all just want to protect the ones we love._

So had Klaus.

The echo of the gunshot proved that only memories and fading photographs could hold them all safe.

 

 

 

**_Ahead By A Century_ **

Holding the dead-man’s switch together was pure agony, but Neil refused to let go. Just one more minute, he begged silently as he lay bleeding on the floor: to let his team escape, to draw as many Boche into the building as possible.

But soon, exhausted from blood loss, he began to shake. Only seconds remained; German shouts and heavy footsteps rumbled closer. This is it, he thought wryly, this is my death—

Everything flashed blinding white.

“Hey. Neil.”

Heart leaping at the familiar voice, he looked up. Tom grinned and extended his hand.

“Everyone’s waiting. Time to come home.”


End file.
